


Gray or Blue

by zoomzoomzuppa



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-19
Updated: 2011-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 07:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoomzoomzuppa/pseuds/zoomzoomzuppa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where mutations are non-existent, Charles and Erik meet at Oxford.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill from the 1st-class kinkmeme on lj that I'm moving here for my sanity.
> 
> Prompt was:
> 
>  _No powers AU._
> 
>  _Charles and Erik are students at Oxford in the same timeframe of the movie. Erik is a Holocaust survivor and basically alone in the world, studying in England through some kind of scholarship/grant. Charles is originally British, from old money, who's returned from a childhood in America._
> 
>  _Charles rescues Erik in a way that is up to the anon, and the two of them become friends, possibly flatmates. Despite the sexual tension between them, neither thinks that their desires are reciprocated, so they are both reluctant to act on them. Erik likes Charles but feels frustrated at his friend's privileged background and casual wealth (i.e., he always insists on picking up the check) and limited comprehension for everything he's been through._
> 
>  _Much angst, with a happy ending please!_
> 
>  _I'd love to see:  
>  Class/wealth issues  
> Race issues (Erik is Jewish, there was still a lot of antisemitism in the 60s)  
> Homophobia issues (the powers of the canon possibly being a metaphor for homosexuality)  
> An unhappy childhood for Charles, a la the comic book canon._
> 
> Enjoy!

Charles had dreamt of attending Oxford since childhood. It had an easy elegance, all cobblestone walkways and stimulating conversations that people dipped into their tea like crumpets. He could finally count himself among the masses of attendees and stood charmed by the campus’ castled structures, encompassed with chattering students on either side. A fresh hovering plume of cigarette smoke clouded over him, the exhalation of the average student as they stuttered their way across the grounds. Charles could barely contain his smile, longingly gaping at his new home.

The campus gates nearest his flat had been open all morning. Charles had curtly held himself at bay, as if expecting all this new found freedom to be swept up from under him at any given moment if he went to campus too early.

It was only when he finally braved it and stepped onto the sidewalk at the mouth of the campus that he let himself bubble with anticipation. Touching the cool metal of the gate seemed to shock him back to earth, leaving a delightful flutter in his stomach. Charles Xavier didn’t fancy himself a sap on most occasions, but he’d attained a goal set in early childhood. That emotion withstood any sense of decency he could compose. The growing grin across his cheeks was living proof that he was as giddy as a schoolgirl.

Students were milling about, exchanging dormitory information, checking in with old friends, discussing the impending doom that was hectic class schedules. Charles hung back, hands in his pockets, eyeing people in a non-committal matter, not entirely inclined to approach anyone just yet.

Classes weren’t starting up for another few days, and as he wasn’t dorming on campus (and didn’t really fancy the idea of taking part in raucous dorm parties), he thought a stroll would benefit him better. He looked down to his watch before swinging away from the gates and out into the open Oxford streets.

It was dusk, though by the ceiling of pregnant clouds that loomed there would be no way to know it. Charles whistled soft and low as he strolled the streets, some familiar, some not. There was a cozy tea shop here, an old and used bookstore there, a tiny barbershop that seemed to have been converted into a café, all among a myriad of restaurants and pubs. A particularly seedy pub seemed to have the necessary, ominous bouncers and patrons loitering out front with leather jackets and unamused glares and Charles stepped a few extra feet away to avoid any mishaps. Perhaps not every aspect of the Oxford streets were perfect, but none of it seemed to faze Charles as he quietly hummed along his way.

After finding a small corner bistro, Charles popped into a nearby pub, something along the lines of The Elm Tree. He sank down onto a barstool and peaked over the counter to see its wares before a bartender found their way down to him.

“What can I get you sir?”

A tall, thin man with tanned skin and long dark, pony-tailed hair gave him what Charles categorized to be a very falsely genuine smile. He was accustomed to those.

“Just a barley wine will do, thank you.” Charles peered away from the tender to survey the rest of the crowd. A few people just a little younger than him had already drunk themselves literally under a table, and a few older patrons seemed incredibly amused watching the goings-on.

“Your drink, sir.”

It appeared on a napkin beside him and he twisted the stem of the glass before sipping it.

“You cannot be here. Leave, now.” A misplaced Russian accent to his right caught Charles’ attention and he swiveled on his stool to see two men standing at the entrance. Of the two crowding the otherwise un-trafficked doorway, the shorter seemed to be preventing the taller from getting in any further.

“Not until I see him.” An extremely tall, fit and lean man, with arms crossed, gritted out his disapproval. Charles’ lips pressed into a thin line, a wave of foreshadowing treachery washing over him as he watched on, entranced.

“You are not to be the one making that decision.” The Russian, who Charles thought must have spent too much time out in the sun, seemed undaunted by what had to be a regularly threatening figure.

“That’s what you think, Azazel. Move. I know he’s here.”

Azazel didn’t so much as budge. “That is unimportant. You are here, and that is a problem. You must leave.”

“Azazel, please.” A third party appeared from thin air (or somewhere behind the bar, Charles hadn’t exactly been paying attention) bearing an offensive mustache and a tuft of auburn hair. He stepped beside Azazel, placing a placating hand onto the Russian’s shoulder. “I see you came back again Erik.”

“I try not to give up easily,” Erik gritted again and Charles could only imagine how ground his teeth were if he made such a static habit of keeping them clenched so tightly all the time.

“I’m sorry, but it’s something I cannot tolerate.”

Charles arched in his seat, trying to find a comfortable and inconspicuous angle to watch from, all while stealing his lips to his glass. Perhaps liquid courage would be necessary, the thought was decidedly grim.

“Everything else was in order. Why now? Why this?”

“I don’t think this conversation needs any further examination. Azazel is right, perhaps you should leave.”

The man with the disturbing mustache hummed a sound that chilled Charles to the bone. He had a twinge of a smile at his lips as he made to turn away from Erik, the latter’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, all of his body a gritting of teeth and force of restraint. Charles was enraptured, the mass of lean muscle before him a distraction. He could practically feel Erik’s anger seep into him.

“Shaw, our agreement -”

“Was made during a time when stakes were high. I would’ve said anything to do what I needed to do; lying was not above that necessity. Now please Mr. Lehnsherr, if you wouldn’t mind -” the now determined Shaw turned his back, gesturing wildly at Azazel (who had done a fantastic job of remaining menacing despite the cracks of electric, palpable tension between Shaw and Erik), assumingly to help Mr. Lehnsherr out.

“Shaw, you promised my mother,” Erik ground out, arching to move passed the bouncer. Long digits stretched forward and roughly grabbed Shaw’s shoulder. “You promised her, promised her before she died on that table.”

Charles had barely heard him, the sobering statement low and rasping with raw emotion.

Shaw shook Erik’s hand off his shoulder, squared off in his aggressor’s face. “I promised a great many things Erik, to a great many pathetic dying Jews,” Shaw hissed. “Had you never told me your name perhaps I’d have employed you, but you remind me of a time I’m not entirely inclined to admit I was an active member of.” He pushed Erik –more of a visible pressure applied to the chest – before turning his back to move to a door that Charles assumed led to an office behind and to the left of the bar.

“I helped you – I withstood all of what you -”

Shaw spun on his heel, all amusement having dissipated from his gaze. An anxious acidic burning flipped through Charles’ stomach and in his throat as he watched, helpless and uncertain.

“Don’t make me ask you again.”

Azazel was now accompanied by the bartender that had given Charles his drink. Things didn’t look as though they could go Erik’s way in any fathomable sense. Charles’ feet and legs stretched and moved toward the entrance before he knew exactly why, and his mouth flew slack with words he didn’t remember preparing himself to say.

“Mr. Shaw, is it?”

Shaw, entirely unfaltering, turned to appraise Charles, eyebrow raised in disinterest. “Yes, sir?” A smile that mimicked everything Charles knew to be distrustful spread over Shaw’s lips.

“I’m afraid I’ve overheard some of your conversation here,” Charles gestured to the air as though the words still clung to it between them. He coughed, hoping it appeared to only be a means to clear his throat and not a means to dissuade any cracking in his voice as he continued. “Are you to tell me that this man is denied employment because he’s Jewish?”

Shaw’s smile fell entirely and the cool appraisal in his eyes darted to Erik. “I don’t see how any of this is your business, Mister -”

“Xavier. Charles Xavier.”

Oh God. I sound as though I’m James Bond. Charles did his best not to appear crest fallen, the obvious holes in his confidence craters in his stance.

“Yes, Mr. Xavier. As I said, whether or not a disagreement has occurred between myself and Mr. Lehnsherr is of no concern to you, and I assure you, it is not something you should wish to interfere in.”

“Well I’m sorry, but I can’t in right mind just watch this prejudice take place. Regardless of whether or not I know this man, or you, denying someone employment -”

“Is entirely up to me.” Shaw snapped. Charles marveled at the amount of disgust one man could possess. “Lehnsherr, if you please.”

Erik’s fists continued to clench and unclench, but the two minions on either side of Shaw stood their ground at Shaw’s back. Suddenly Charles felt like an unimportant aspect of this fight. Something wiggling at the back of Charles’ mind forced him to worry that perhaps he’d only managed to make things worse, and when Erik’s fist flew at Shaw’s jaw he was entirely certain he’d made a terrible mistake.

Shaw fell to the ground amid a few cheers from the drunkards nearby. The Russian and the bartender procured weapons – Charles couldn’t place where from, it all happened so incredibly fast. Before he knew what he was doing (it seemed he was making a habit out of being impulsive) Charles leapt between Erik and the swing of the chain, scoring himself a few bruised ribs and a cry out in pain.

Erik pushed Charles out of the line of fire after he’d been hit and he was forced to watch in shock the fight as it progressed above him. The two men crowded around Erik but the cheers of his fellow bar attendees alerted them to the spectacle they were making. Within a matter of seconds, Erik, the Russian, and the bartender disappeared through the front door. Shaw was magically nowhere to be found.

Charles scrambled to his feet and brushed himself off, the disappointed mutterings from the crowd as it fell about the place behind him as he left. A wave of rain splatter hit him as soon as he exited the pub; of course, Oxford rain. Charles shivered but didn’t acknowledge the drastic temperature change; there were more pressing matters to attend to. Speed had him turning the corner quickly, his stride meaningful in pursuit. How he’d managed to lose them so quickly was beyond him.

Something stopped him in the middle of the sidewalk – worry, fear, uncertainty – whatever it was shook him to the core. There was no logical reason to follow any of these men; their business was their own and yet somehow, he found himself intrigued beyond repair. Perhaps it was the way he could feel the waves of anger and pain from Erik – a nifty skill he’d acquired at a young age – or the cool, deadly demeanor of Shaw that kicked his adrenaline into gear. Whatever it was it moved his feet again before he could rationalize it properly.

“I do believe we told you to not come back. I’m tired of letting you think it’s acceptable to return here, demanding things.”

Charles ducked behind a large, incorrigibly unpleasant green dumpster. Around its edge he could see Erik, Azazel, his bartender, and he-should-just-be-shaved (there must’ve been a back way from the office) standing, the three facing Erik in a semi-circle.

“I’m not particularly surprised by your hypocrisy, Shaw.”

Shaw chuckled, demeaning. “I’m not hypocritical at all. Everyone made promises to dying Jews back then. Your mother was no exception. I’ve tried to make this abundantly clear to you.” Shaw sighed dramatically, waving his hands in mock sympathy. “I’m sorry this is so hard for you to grasp.”

Something lurched in Charles’ stomach but he remained hidden.

“You promised a great many things, Shaw. And on none of them did you deliver. You owe me some compensation, or,” Charles peaked a bit and saw that Erik was set feet and fists apart ready to fight, “I’ll make you pay.”

Shaw seemed unaffected. “Idle threats, Erik, idle threats.” The man’s features seemed to center around his mustache – Charles really was vehemently opposed to it being on that man’s face – in a tight, dangerous manner. Azazel and the bartender stepped forward on either side of Shaw at the ready, waiting for further instructions.

“You can stop this at any point Erik. Just walk away.”

Erik must have decided that words were no longer important and lunged forward – albeit with decent form – only to be interrupted mid-stride by Azazel, who laid a swift kick to Erik’s gut. The bartender started to twirl the chain between his hands as Erik stumbled to the ground and Azazel slammed his foot into Erik’s ribs in two quick hits. A gasp of a groan escaped Erik and he clutched at his side with one arm, while using the other trying to balance.

Charles leapt from behind the dumpster and fumbled his way toward Azazel and the bartender, off-putting their attention for a moment. The latter of the two nearly fell backwards out of surprise, eliciting a disapproving glare from Shaw.

“Leave him alone!” Charles shouted, akin to a small child trying to fight off bullies on the playground. Erik scrambled to get to his feet.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Erik hissed. “Get out now, I don’t need you here.”

Charles straightened up, sending Erik a stubborn glance. “Yes you do. Let me help you,” he tried, but Erik was no longer looking at him. Charles saw the two minions finally find their footing and the ripple of Shaw chuckling caught him off guard.

“I gave you a chance, Erik,” was the last thing he said before heading inside. Erik launched himself forward, assumingly in hopes of getting to Shaw, but the other two minions pushed him back.

“Shaw, you asshole, get out here!”

A punch across Erik’s jaw sent him against the dumpster and Charles knew it was now or never. Just as the taller man started again Charles threw all of his weight against Erik, pressing him to the dumpster.

“Erik my friend, calm yourself!” Charles pressed his arm against Erik’s chest, forcing him against the metal. “Relax! Calm your mind; do not let him win this way!” Erik struggled, seething.

“Let me go Xavier!”

“No, I can’t let you do this. Calm your mind! Going after him now will do you no good!”

Erik’s body was tense but motionless against Charles, his eyes clouded and seeking out the unmoving henchmen of his not-employer. The Russian chuckled behind him but Charles was intent on staring at Erik in hopes that he could force him to relax, features drawn in serious lines of worry.

“You’re lucky he was here.” The Russian chuckled, leaving the scene with a wave of disinterest, the bartender close behind. Erik started again, forcing Charles to use every ounce of strength he had to restrain him.

“Calm. Your. Mind.” Charles leaned in further. “He’s not worth it.”

Erik tensed further but stayed where he was, no longer fighting against Charles’ grip, and Charles waited until he heard the decisive click of the doors closing before letting go. Erik’s gaze snapped to Charles’ eye level and he swallowed extremely hard, trying to quell the fear and attraction that twisted inside him.

“Why did you do that. I don’t even know you.” Erik’s words struck him, harsh and like an anchor dropping in the shallow waters of his gut. “You should’ve never intervened.”

Charles stood his ground. “I can’t promise you’d have lived if I hadn’t.”

Erik spat on the ground – blood, but Charles was decidedly unvocal about it – and looked away. “I can. Shaw wouldn’t have killed me.”

“Better not to tempt the fates my friend.”

Erik stiffened at Charles’ endearment and sent him a withering, guarded glare. “Well you’ve done your good deed.”

Charles leaned forward and pressed his hand to Erik’s shoulder and the groan that bled its way from his lips couldn’t possibly be masked by any stronger a man. Stubborn and yet uncoordinatedly, Erik shuttered away from Charles touch and hunched against the dumpster, staring at the ground.

“Let me take you to the hospital.” Charles’ suggestion was met with another glare. “Please?”

Puppy-dog eyes notwithstanding, Charles was known to be a very charming person when it was necessary. Erik seemed unrepentant in his contempt for Charles, but when the smaller man slung the Erik’s arm over his shoulder and his own arm around the injured’s waist, there were no complaints. A taxi was hailed and Erik slumped against the door with a moaned exhalation of discomfort, no longer worried about keeping up his pretenses.

Charles instructed the driver to take them to the nearest hospital and then watched as Erik’s guard flew over his pained features again, jaw squared and eyes drawn far off out the window. He was in pain and had just suffered something of an emotional breakdown; Charles decided to wait to pursue him with questions. They sat in silence for the remainder of the drive to the hospital, Charles glancing at the passing streets, Erik swallowing down any sharp pains with difficulty.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles takes Erik to the hospital, and stories are told.

Considering the degradation of color in Erik’s cheeks, the sweat that pooled at his temples, and the way he clutched what was undoubtedly bruised or broken ribs, Charles couldn’t help but be underwhelmed with how long it took the emergency staff to get Erik to a bed. Necessary paperwork took precedence; it also took an inordinate amount of time.

Once they got Erik settled in a room, however, things picked up to a more appropriate pace. A nurse had come along with an IV drip, probing fingers, and a few pills to help ease the pain. Charles turned away out of modest respect for Erik’s privacy as the latter stripped down and put on a hospital robe, the nurse lingering out in the hall. Erik chose to remain stoic to both the nurse and the doctor, offering very limited explanations for his injuries, until he finally fell asleep (Charles assumed courtesy of the drugs).

As soon as Erik was out, Charles was forced to endure interrogation by the doctor. He did to the best of his ability to regale the doctor with the tale without revealing the nature of the argument or the name of the persons involved. The fact that this Shaw character was determined to take Erik out by any forcible means necessary implied he had the stock behind him to prevent him from suffering many, if any, consequences. Living in a circuit of old money and elitists gave Charles that one bit of know-how, so he promptly avoided the issue entirely.

“He’s got two broken ribs, a fracture in his shoulder, and we’ve given him stitches above his eyebrow.” The doctor gestured on his own body as he explained but Charles was too busy peering behind him to notice.

“So he’ll be all right then?”

“Undoubtedly.” The doctor’s assurance gave Charles the chance to let out the breath he’d been holding for the past two hours.

Charles re-entered Erik’s room once the doctor was satisfied, exhaustion pouring out of him as the need for speed ceased. There was a ratty chair off to the side of Erik’s bed and Charles planted himself there, a tired, loyal watchdog. The idea that Shaw would still send his two henchmen lingered at the back of his mind but Charles grew less and less attached to its possible fruition as time passed. If Shaw had really wanted Erik dead, he had no doubt that the man would’ve made it happen, regardless of Charles’ intervening.

For awhile, Charles was lost in his thoughts, dwelling somewhere between the _if I hadn’t_ and the _perhaps I should leave_ , when Erik grumbled a little under his breath and shifted in the bed to face Charles, still asleep. His left arm, set up in a sling and yet somehow pressed beneath him, dislodged in a sleep-driven move for comfort. It flopped down against the flimsy sling, exposing his forearm. Charles’ eyes widened.

 _You’re a… oh, Erik._ The ink seemed faded – old – and yet still risen across Erik’s pale skin. _214782_. Shaw’s disgust for Jews, Erik’s mortified expression while speaking of his mother, all of it suddenly slid like misshapen puzzle pieces in Charles’ mind. He denied his fingers the desire to touch it and Erik’s mumbling started up again, causing him to swing over onto the opposite side and away from Charles.

 _I am so incredibly sorry my friend._ Charles sank forward in the chair, elbows digging into his knees, and let his head drop into his hands, an overwhelming melancholy overtaking him. He couldn’t process the information. All the words and images built up in his head, a chaos of imagination pulling his stomach into one huge knot. Charles envied Erik’s unconscious state, envied the sleep that he’d found. But once he started to cry, softly, into his fingers, he realized he was also glad to know this.

There was nothing he could do to fix what Erik had gone through. But somehow this new bit of information drove the nail in further – Charles needed to help this man. He didn’t know how – and with Erik asleep, there was little he could accomplish – but he did know he was going to do something, anything.

His first step was to not leave Erik alone. A gentle vow of devotion to a man who transfixed him, somewhere in his chest, set him at ease, and a few sniffles later, Charles settled into the chair, asleep.

\--

Erik woke up after what felt like days of rest to a throbbing pain in both his shoulder and forehead and a searing sharpness that pulsed around his ribs with each jerk of movement. He couldn’t really survey his body without causing more damage. He could feel the bandages around his waist beneath his hospital garb and there was a sling set up for his left arm. The fuzzy memories of how he’d made it into the bed, who had brought him, and why he was here refocused with a great deal of effort. He palmed his forehead with his right hand as he tried to make sense of everything.

A soft snore caught him off guard. There was an ugly chair that bore a sleeping man beside his bed; all that was blurry from the night before swam in his head, emerging in vivid detail. The man, dark-haired and soft in features, had stopped him from going against Shaw.

Shaw. Erik’s teeth ground against each other of their own volition. He had been so close and this man had stopped him, for no other reason than the desire of being a makeshift vigilante.

“Ah, Mr. Lehnsherr, you’re awake. Good.”

Erik peered up to the doctor as he strode in, clipboard in hand. He acknowledged him groggily, medication pumping through him.

“We’ll need you to stay the night, to make sure nothing else proves itself an issue. Everything seems to be better now that you’re resting, but you sustained a fair amount of injuries, so keeping you will help us to monitor anything else. You’re friend here was smart to bring you when he did.” He gestured with his clipboard to the sleeping fellow in the chair.

Erik’s eyebrows furrowed. “He’s not my friend. And I didn’t need his help.”

The doctor seemed slightly unnerved but held his ground. “Mr. Xavier,” _Right, Xavier, that was his name,_ “was fairly adamant about our care for you. I only assumed you were friends.” He swallowed, discomfort etched in the lines of his face. He plastered a passable smile to his lips. “Now, how are you feeling?”

“Fine. I don’t need to stay.” Erik made to move from the bed but only accomplished a pained grimace.

“Yes, of course your fine.” The doctor’s sudden deadpan, though a rival to Erik’s, was unappreciated.

“I don’t need to stay.”

“I can’t make you stay, but I’d advise against you leaving. For your health.”

Erik silently fumed. “The state of my health is my own doing, I can take care of myself.”

“Oh Erik,” a yawn of a phrase started, catching Erik off guard. “Calm yourself, they’re just trying to help you.”

Charles felt rather than saw the heated glare Erik gave him. Something of a soft smugness radiated from Charles as he peered slowly from tired lids.

“And you? Are you just trying to help, Xavier?” Erik snipped, not at all amused at his companion’s coy charm.

“Charles.”

If he were capable of vulnerability Erik would’ve blanched. Instead his face pinched, tight. “Excuse me?”

Charles’ smug, exhausted smiling yawn returned before he answered. “Charles. My first name is Charles. It’ll be easier for us to be friends if you don’t use my surname.”

This time Erik was incredibly close to blanching. “Friends?” The word sputtered out of him in disbelief. “Us. Friends.”

“Well, yes. I thought after tonight-”

“You mean after you nearly got yourself killed.”

“I mean after I stopped you from getting yourself killed,” Charles sighed, pointedly, and when he raised his fingers to massage his temples Erik couldn’t help but wonder how on earth this man felt like he was the one dealing with a child, and not Erik. Erik let out a huff and sank back into the bed.

“I’ll – well – my work here for now is -” the doctor coughed uneasily. “Rest up. Call if you need anything – we’ll check in on you periodically. Feel better Mr. Lehnsherr.” And with that he left the tension, allowing Charles and Erik some privacy.

“As I was saying. After tonight, I can’t help but see us as friends.” Charles gave Erik a smile.

“Are you often in the habit of making friends with jobless, homeless Jews who get themselves into back-alley fights?” Erik idly picked at a thread in his blanket.

“Most assuredly. Quite possibly my favorite pastime.”

Erik’s deadpan did nothing to dissuade Charles. Seeing that his chipper approach was getting him nowhere, and having now obtained proof that Erik hadn’t anywhere to stay, Charles decided to change the subject.

“What are you in England for?”

“School. I was going to being at Oxford this fall.”

“Was?”

Erik’s head lolled back against his pillow, the knowledge that he’d somehow accrued a talkative side-kick for the moment draining him of energy. “Yes, was. If I have no place to stay and no means of supporting myself it’s highly unlikely that I’ll be able to continue my schooling.”

“You aren’t dorming?” Charles was taking a diplomatic, lawyer approach, asking looping questions he already knew the answer to.

“No.” Erik was going to attempt to remain as monosyllabic as possible at this point. Charles was like an exasperating puppy that, if not given attention, would hopefully mope away, put in its place.

“Why not?”

“I’m on a scholarship that only covers the academics of my schooling, not my living arrangements. And unlike you who, it seems, so freely has the ability to throw money around, I can’t just pick up and live somewhere nearby. I need a job.”

Charles’ lips drew to a thin line and if Erik had been paying attention he’d have seen the cogs in Charles’ brain tinkering away behind his eyes. “And that was what Shaw had promised you?” Erik was still not looking, but heard Charles gulp down something loud – possibly his cowardice, considering his follow-up. “When – uh – when you were in the, well -”

Erik’s cool gaze met Charles’, briefly, before Charles looked down at his feet. “The concentration camps? In the holocaust? At the genocide of my people? Yes. Yes, that is when Shaw – or, as we called him, Herr Doktor – promised my mother that I would be taken care of.”

Charles tenderly reached out, his fingers small and smooth as the stretched over the frame of Erik’s hand. “I can’t express my sorrow for you my friend.”

Erik snapped his hand away. “I didn’t ask for your pity Xavier.”

“Charles.”

Erik’s eyelids thinned close together.

“And it isn’t pity. I truly am sorry, and if I could change anything -”

“Well you can’t, and petting it with words is useless and empty.” Erik’s words were quick, sharp, and stinging, catching Charles off guard.

He sat back in his chair and Erik felt as though he’d not only kicked a puppy, but took away all of its toys and left it out in the rain. Oh, the wave of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” Charles muttered. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I can’t imagine how hard it must be to think about it.” He swallowed hard. “I have a habit of dragging out the most uncomfortable conversations.”

When Charles glanced back to Erik, the latter was staring down at his hands. He was trying to compose himself.

“It isn’t your fault. I should have better control of this by now.”

“Control of trauma? That seems a little juvenile a notion.” Charles saw Erik grit his teeth, eyes slits again. He blubbered over his words, hastily trying to redeem himself. “I don’t mean for you, but for whoever told you that was necessary.”

Erik’s state was unappeased and Charles slumped back into his chair, attempting another approach. “I know my words do nothing to soothe any of the hurts you suffered, and I even less wish for you to relive them.” Charles tentatively put his hand over Erik’s again and this time Erik didn’t move away, just continued to stare down. Something softened in Erik’s features, relieving Charles of his duty of amending the situation.

However, the trust that Erik placed in him with his next admission never ceased to surprise Charles, even in the years to come.

“Herr Doktor took more than just my childhood away from.” Erik paused, glancing to Charles briefly before turning back to his hands. “All I remember is the day we were dragged from our home, the sting of the needle on my arm, the chains around my ankles and wrists. I was young, a commodity to them, but I was too stubborn, so they went through her.” Erik paused to inhale slowly, for calm. Charles wasn’t surprised when he did the same, copying Erik’s rising chest involuntarily.

“They promised my mother that it was for the greater good, that it would prevent worse things from happening to us, and no matter how hard I tried to tell her not to, she believed them. From that point on, they did the only thing they could to break me: they forced me to watch, everything.” His fists clenched as the memories washed over him. “My mother was stretched on a table for experimentation as I watched, for hours, for days, for weeks, without food, without water, without rest. And not once did she complain, or ask God why, or beg for mercy, because Herr Doktor had promised that if he had her full cooperation, I would live.” Erik’s eyes misted, but nothing fell. Charles listened intently, somehow already keenly aware of the fact that everything Erik was telling him was difficult, that some level of trust had already been given. “I was made to watch her undergo torture with instruments that I couldn’t understand, for reasons that were never explained, and I was so young. I wished to be able to somehow stop them, to make all of their instruments break and bend, but I was helpless.”

Charles took a deep breath, steadying his heart beat. A few tears had already slid down his cheeks but his gaze never broke free of Erik as he spoke, fearful of scaring the man into silence. Erik’s face softened, his lips sliding into a soft smile as he remembered his mother. Charles longed to know the few, brief memories that Erik had with her, but pressed nothing.

“She was amazing. She did all she could for me, to protect me, out of love.” His hands fisted the sheets and his features drew sharp and pointed again. “And that bastard Shaw promised her that she would not die in vain; promised her that all of her efforts in helping scientific advancements would only protect me in the future.” A tear dripped from his left eye and lingered on his raised cheekbone before falling to his chin. Silence settled for a moment, emotions strung like a lifeline between the two men in the room.

Erik’s eyes screwed shut, tight, wedging a few tears that had clung for dear life at the corners of his lids free. Charles was prepared and yet wholly unprepared for the swift blow Erik was about to deliver to his heart.

“She died two days before the base we were kept in was found.”

A gentle sob echoed in Charles’ throat and try as he might, he could not disguise it. Erik still seemed unfazed, focus drawn on retelling his tale. His voice seemed rusted over, as though everything he was saying had been caged and the locks hadn’t been touched in eons.

“Shaw disappeared then. Years later when I was living with a family that the government found for me just outside of Poland, I heard that he’d somehow managed to implicate many of the Nazi soldiers, thus freeing him from charges.” Erik took a deep breath, a calm brush of air.

“And you applied to work for him?”

Erik’s daze seemed to break and he looked at Charles, eyes raw with emotion for a split second before hiding behind them again. “Yes, though I don’t know why now. I gave him references, we’d shared a few letters; everything seemed to be in order. When I finally arrived earlier today – or I suppose at this rate yesterday – I immediately sought him out. Everything seemed to fall into place, but once I said my name -”

“Yes, I believe that was where I came in.”

Erik nodded. “I knew he was nothing more than a coward. But I’d hoped that somehow, in some way, he’d been honest with my mother, with me.”

Charles’ thumb slid over Erik’s knuckles. “I am so incredibly sorry my friend.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Yes Charles, I believe you are.”

An ecstatic motion of warmth spread through Charles and he couldn’t hide the smile on his lips. Erik, emotionally drained and not fighting the dawning realization that he might actually feel comfortable around Charles, sank against his pillows again with a sigh.

“Do I want to know why you’re smiling like a child in a candy store?”

Charles’ grin did nothing but grow. “You said my name.”

Erik tried to review this decision as a mistake, but the warmth that was bubbling in Charles seemed to quell that hidden rage and he offered his new friend a very small, non-committal smile. “I suppose I did.”

Charles released Erik’s hand slowly, a pleased, genuine smile lingering on his lips.

“Thank you, Erik. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to think on those things.”

Erik grew distant momentarily, lost in thought. “I don’t even know why I even told you.”

This time when Charles smiled, it was smug. “I’ve already told you Erik, haven’t I? We’re friends now.”

Erik sighed, the heaviness of everything inside him elevated and thinned at Charles’ adamancy. “Yes, I think I’m starting to see that.”

Charles’ eyes softened and Erik felt an uncanny pull in his stomach that he decidedly ignored. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Charles cleared his throat.

“Now, listen. I’m about to tell you something.”

Erik’s face turned slightly, eyes parted and a single eyebrow rose in curiosity. “Yes Charles?”

“I’m going to leave you here now for a little while, then come collect you in the morning. I have a flat just off campus that is far too large for just myself to live in. Come live with me.” Charles paused for effect – or really to see if Erik would vehemently oppose – then let out his caught breath. It suddenly occurred to him that being around Erik made him forget to breathe often; he’d have to work on that.

“I don’t think I can let you do that.”

“You’re not letting me do anything Erik. I want you to come live with me.”

At that precise moment, as both men felt individual and unnoticed twists in their chests at the word want, a nurse ambled in.

“Mr. Lehnsherr, I have more medicine for you.” She handed Erik a small paper cup that contained pills, and another containing water. Erik downed them happily. Satisfied, the nurse left. The tension immediately returned.

“I appreciate the offer Charles, but I really can’t just -”

“Oh and why not?”

Erik felt again like he was dealing with a child – a prime example of just why he could not live with Charles. “Because I have no job, no contribution to make.”

Silence fell again, Charles desperately grasping at straws. As if a cartoon light bulb appeared over his head, Charles perked up with a chipper smile. “You can fix whatever needs fixing.”

Erik arched an eyebrow. “Do things need fixing?”

Charles hummed. “Not presently, but if they do, I assure you, you can take care of them.”

“How do you know I’m good at fixing things?’

“Your hands.” Charles gestured. “You’ve got calluses on your hands, signs of practiced labor.”

“You’re fairly observant.”

Silence settled and Charles’ smile faded. He sank back into his chair. Erik tried not to spy on him from beneath his lashes.

“Please?”

It came quietly, and just as Erik had closed his eyes. He quirked one open to see Charles not even looking at him. Erik sighed, too tired to debate, the creeping ebbing of pain meds causing his clarity to wane.

“Fine. For now. Until I can pay you back.” He turned to see Charles getting ready to say something. “And I will pay you back.”

“But Erik, it isn’t -”

“Necessary? Perhaps not for you, but it is for me.”

Charles’ mouth slapped shut. Erik almost laughed at how dumbstruck he looked. Then he did laugh – or more so giggle – before sinking back against his pillows just that much further. The medicine seemed to be filling him with unadulterated content.

Erik deftly felt Charles’ hand on his own and peered up at him.

“We’ll discuss this further tomorrow. Listen to me, before you fall asleep again, I need to know where I can -”

Erik’s gentle, even breathing and closed eyelids made Charles smile again. He ran his fingers over Erik’s knuckles, his other hand sinking into his dirtied-slacks’ pocket. “I’ll see you tomorrow my friend.” He scooped up his few belongings and waved goodnight to the nurse before leaving for his flat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Interlude as Charles gets Erik from the hospital.

Erik had already signed the discharge papers from the hospital by the time Charles had shown up, still damp from his shower. The doctor assured Charles that Erik just needed to take things easy, but was otherwise in good health, then handed Charles a bottle of pills that he was sure would make him tired and loopy just as the night before.

After a few _thank you’s_ and wistful goodbyes from smitten nurses, they started out. Charles happily wheeled Erik out of the hospital. Erik managed to complain the entire trek out about how his legs were fully functional and that he was not an invalid but someone who could easily walk.

“Tsk, tsk,” Charles wagged his finger as he clucked his tongue. Erik remained in a brooding silence until the exited the hospital and rounded on the cabby. His long legs all but leapt from the wheeled contraption and he twisted away, sending the metal chair a menacing glare. Charles imagined Erik was trying to fight the desire to kick it and prove its usefulness to him fallible. The nudging that Charles gave him only slightly diverted his attention until they were both against the taxi, Charles sliding in first and to the far end.

“Now, lead the way.” Charles commanded, directing it to Erik who had just slumped against the cushions of the interior.

“I’m sorry, what now?”

Charles gave him a simpering smile. “Where to? I assume we need to pick up your belongings.”

Erik blinked a few times, stare still bleary thanks to the pain medication he’d been inhaling for the past few hours. “I’m sorry. What now?” He parroted, Charles giving him an arched-eyebrow look of amusement.

“Your belongings? Clothes, books, anything you’d brought with you? I’m assuming you hadn’t come here with just a suitcase.”

Silence settled and Erik shifted uncomfortably, eyes unfocused and out the window.

The cabby peered at them from his review mirror. “Lissen fellas, where we off to? Me’ahs runnin.”

Charles coughed and Erik seemed uncharacteristically uncomfortable (not that Charles had fully categorized all that Erik Lehnsherr was in the brief time he’d known him) before leaning up and mumbling something to the cabby. The taxi lurched forward and, much like their first ride together, they stayed in a slightly imperfect silence.

Once they arrived at the hostel that Erik had planned to stay in for his first few nights in Oxford, Charles flustered a deep red once he realized he’d casually confirmed the fact that Erik had very few belongings with him. Charles hung back as Erik negotiated the prices with the manager, clearly off-put by his own callous implication.

The manager disappeared for a moment, quickly re-emerging with a tattered and moderately sized suitcase that only deepened Charles mortification. The humiliation must have been etched all over his face; Erik turned and all but guffawed.

“You were right, Charles. All I have is a suitcase. Don’t be so candid.”

Charles hung his head. “I hadn’t meant to imply anything by it.”

“I know. It was just in jest, Charles. Now, follow me.” Erik motioned his way to the front door and back to the cabby, who he handed a few bills to. The cabby drove off, Charles gesturing wildly after him, bewildered.

“How are we supposed to get to the flat now? Really Erik, that didn’t make any sense.” He mused aloud, then turned back to look at the hostel. “I could ask the manager if he has a phone we can use, I suppose.”

“Charles.”

“Or chase after the cab, I’m sure he’s not too far, and if I wave my arms enough…”

“Charles.”

“Then again, I don’t want to make a fool of myself, either. Erik, why did you -” Charles turned back to look for Erik but his companion had already started to walk down the alleyway next to the hostel. “Erik?”

He trotted forward. “Erik, where are you…?” A few garbage cans obscured his view and path but, with precision, Charles skirted his way around, avoiding the filth that rimmed each of them. He dusted himself off regardless once he made it to standing beside Erik.

His eyes drifted to look at Erik’s far-off expression.

Then from his friend to what said friend was staring a fondly.

“That’s – that’s a – is that – oh, Erik you can’t mean -”

“Yes Charles. It’s a motorbike.” Erik sidled to said mode of transportation, suave and lean and Charles had to gulp as he watched Erik lovingly place his hands against the chrome. Something all too familiar brimmed at the surface of Charles’ gut and he worked exceedingly hard to push it away.

“However,” Erik started again, shaking Charles back to the present reality, “I only have one helmet. I suppose I’ll have to go without.” He didn’t seem to be paying attention to Charles at all, deciding things Charles didn’t fully grasp without his dictated approval.

Charles laughed nervously. “You can’t mean…”

Erik’s grin grew predatory and toothy; shark-like. “What. You don’t trust me?”

The gulp that followed the slide of nervous energy down Charles throat elicited a throaty laugh from his new friend. “I suppose I have no choice but to.” Without warning, a heavy metal helmet was thrown into his hands.

“Good.”

Erik secured his suitcase on the far back of the bike before sinking onto the curve, making riding a motorbike look even more alluring than Charles could have imagined. He wasn’t entirely fond of riding on a motorbike, much less with someone who had one arm in a sling and coherency-impairing drugs pumping through his system, but he’d be damned if he didn’t prove himself committed to the cause of securing Erik a spot in his flat.

“Right.” His words were swallowed up by the tight wedging he was forced to do with the helmet. The goggles that had been sat against the round edge of the helmet were too loose at first but easily contorted to his face shape with a few rough tugs. Charles took his legs one shaky step at a time to stand beside the bike. “Right. Ah. Yes. Of course.”

The awkward moment that ensued as Charles tried to casually lift his leg and plop himself onto the back of the bike would’ve been comical had anyone seen it. The bike wasn’t particularly high off the ground, and Charles understood the mechanics of getting onto a bike, but somehow he got lost between confidence and trying to look like he knew what he was doing and yelped when he slid down what was left of the curve behind Erik, slamming into him.

“Sorry,” he blushed again, thankful for the helmet’s masking of such a response. Erik said nothing, just leaned over his shoulder to give Charles another toothy-grin.

“Keep your arms around my waist and try to lean with me as we go. But not too much, I don’t want to fall and land us both back into the hospital.”

“Agreed.”

Things seemed to speed up to match Charles’ racing heartbeat once Erik’s heel met the kickstand, sending it off from the ground. The engine roared to life with the gentle twist of the key in the ignition and Charles hastily wrapped his arms around Erik, pressing against the other man’s back. The warmth was pleasant and unexpected and Charles had to force himself to not nuzzle into the dark brown leather jacket Erik was wearing.

“Left or right?” Erik called over the droning putt of the engine.

“I’m sorry?”

Erik deadpanned. “Left or right, out of here?” He gestured with his elbow to the mouth of the alley. Charles flushed again; it wasn’t fair that being around Erik made him lose the majority of his composure.

“Oh. Yes. Right. Turn right.”

Erik nodded and pushed off from the ground. Charles' heart skipped a bit and his arms tightened around Erik, everything inside him attempting to prevent him from whimpering. He felt rather than heard Erik’s chuckle through his spine, and the ease of it relaxed Charles.

Suffice to say, with the heat emanating through Erik’s jacket, the smooth run of the machine, and Erik’s soothing voice, Charles made it to the flat in one piece, almost suffering from enjoying it toward the end.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles discusses his new-found love of picking up men in seedy places, and a friendship starts to flourish.

“I don’t know how I feel about this Charles.”

Raven had a way of supporting Charles’ impulses all while chastising him. The sound of her mild admonishment was quite possibly the only inviting reminder of home.

“Well, my conscience is back in Westchester. It’s difficult for me to abide by common laws of logic when I lack the prime faculty.”

Raven’s laugh fell into his ear through the receiver and he melted into the comforting warmth.

“Oh Charles, how on earth do you survive without me.”

“Barely, I can assure you. Just barely.” He spun around the landline, the chord following and twisting with him as he peered down the hallway to where Erik was hidden inside one of the rooms, unabashedly quiet.

Raven chuckled again and the sound of dishes clinked in the background.

“Cooking, love? Didn’t you learn from the last time?”

“Yes. I learned that if I want to cook, you need to be elsewhere. You thought the measurements were in metric.”

Charles flushed at the memory of the superfluous amounts of cookie dough ingredients. Having never really existed in a world without live-in maids, he’d avoided cooking for years, but Raven was adamant that they should at least attempt to acquire culinary skills, should the economy fall and land them penniless and fending for themselves. Charles had reluctantly agreed, exhausting every effort to prolong the actual baking portion, but his miscalculations conjured more problems. Eventually flour had been flung everywhere, the attempt at cookie dough strewn out and forgotten on the cutting board as he and Raven decided that a walk to the grocer would be significantly more prudent (and less hazardous).

“It was an honest mistake. I’d never done any real cooking before; you couldn’t have assumed I’d know that America used a different measurement system.”

Raven’s eye-roll practically echoed through her voice. “You lived in America for how long again?”

Charles succumbed to his embarrassment and let out a quiet laugh. “All right, you win.”

“It’s all that genetics nonsense you’ve got bumping around in that noggin of yours. If you paid attention to the more important details -”

“-genetics is important-”

“-and less to your obsession with the perfect specimen-”

“-that was a _joke_ and you know it-”

“-then maybe you wouldn’t be shit in the kitchen.”

Charles gaped. “I am – how dare you insinuate – I’m sure I could -”

“Could what? Burn down every kitchen on the continent? Ensure world hunger? Produce the only dish with no nutritional value?” Raven was smiling, and if Charles knew well enough, twirling her hair as she was wont to do when teasing.

“I see your point. I’ll stay the whisk and keep to my tutelage.”

“Good. Now, this Erik fellow.” Raven paused and a few more dishes clinked together in the background. “Is he handsome? Debonair? Is he sex on legs?”

“Raven!” Charles shook his head side to side, realizing how loud his declaration must’ve been. Nothing around him seemed to stir – a welcomed relief.

“Well, there must be a reason you’ve kept him around. I know you Charles. You may be a softy, but you’re even more so when it comes to a man whose pants you want in.”

“That’s incredibly inappropriate.”

“Oh _god_. You do want to sleep with him. When can I visit?”

Charles sputtered and comically pulled the phone from his ear to eye it incredulously.

“Is it broken?”

The phone jumped in Charles hands as he let out a surprised yelp. For a moment the phone dangled somewhere between defying gravity and just within Charles’ reach, and with Erik’s help, landed itself firmly in his grasp.

“It’s not – I mean -”

“Charles? Charles? Hello?”

Charles lifted the phone back to his ear. “Sorry darling, yes, I’m still here.”

“Well?” Raven bit loudly into something and it amplified its way into Charles’ ear. He winced, tiredly at best, bridging his fingers over the space between his eyebrows.

Erik arched a curious eyebrow to Charles before passing him to the kitchen. Charles sent his back a withering glare that went unnoticed.

“Well what, Raven?” He turned back to look at the phone’s hook.

“When can I visit?”

“Not any time soon, school _is_ about to start after all.”

Raven’s sigh was not encouraging. “You’re such a _nerd_ , Charles.” It sat somewhere between insulting and endearing, a trait of his sister’s he’d long since become accustomed to.

“Yes, I know. Now if you don’t mind?” Charles let his question hang in the air and Raven scoffed a return.

“Yes, yes, go look after your new crush. But do me a favor?” Her voice grew serious, the hints of worry evident.

“Mm? Yes love?”

“Don’t take in any more strays? And for the love of god, please don’t get involved in anymore bar fights?”

Charles could hardly help smiling at her concern. “Oh you know me, ever the danger-seeker. I don’t know how I’ll survive without prowling for men with knives and chains and dark secrets.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Devilishly so.” Charles sobered. “Raven, If you see her -”

“Don’t worry. If she comes around, I’ll tell Mother you said hello. Or something.”

Charles softened. Of all the things he regretted, leaving Raven under the negligent rule of his mother and step-father was the one he thought of most often.

“Love you,” he breathed. It was more of a promise, a reminder that she was never alone, regardless of the ocean that separated them.

Her response spoke just as many volumes. “Love you too, Charles. Be careful.”

“You too.”

The phone clicked elegantly into place and Charles watched it for a moment, as though its deep black shine had Raven hidden in it. It wasn’t easy leaving her at home, but she was about to start her own college venture and he wasn’t particularly keen on attending a school inferior to Oxford if he could help. Their goodbyes had been depressing, but they heralded the better things to come.

“Who was that?”

Charles didn’t jump out of his skin at Erik’s question like he had earlier. The man had an uncanny knack for appearing when Charles was his most vulnerable, forcing Charles he to assure himself that he’d either grow comfortable with Erik’s stealth or get better at sensing his presence. Neither options seemed to bother him.

“My sister, Raven.” He turned to face Erik, tilting his head to look up at him. “She’s back home.”

“Westchester? Isn’t that an expensive phone call?”

Charles nodded, not at all noticing Erik’s indignation at such a squandering of money.

“It’s important to me that I stay in contact with her while I’m here; money isn’t an issue, and she’s so young, she has to come first.”

Charles leaned back against the wall, exhausted already by the day. Erik remained unreadable before he turned away. “There’s so much space here.”

Charles laughed, eyeing his apartment with admiration and contempt simultaneously. “I know. Could you imagine my staying here alone?”

Charles turned to see Erik giving him half of a devious smile. “It seems a little lavish for a lone bachelor college student, Charles.” Erik returned to surveying the apartment, which upon inspection was truly too large for just one person to live in.

The living room was larger than the room Erik had intended to stay in at the hostel near the school, and it was what any visitor would enter into from the front door. There was a couch, a telly, a recliner, and a bookshelf littered with titles Erik both knew and had never heard of. Offset from the living room was an enormous kitchen, fully equipped with stove, refrigerator, all the cooking necessities, and a quaint wooden in-kitchen dining set. It sat beside the hallway that led to not one, not two, but three full-sized bedrooms, a bathroom separating the second and third with a small closet across from it. As for the time being the third bedroom was for storage of whatever else Charles had brought with him as well as a make-shift study area. The rest of the apartment, Erik learned, had come furnished.

Charles waved Erik’s statement from the air. “Hence why having you here is a benefit.”

Erik nodded.

Charles had to keep himself from sending side-long glances at Erik, or getting lost in Erik’s deep eyes, or imagining what it would be like to fall into a sea of blankets and clothes that smelled just like Erik, because that was exactly what Charles would do. He’d get lost in Erik if he let himself, lost in the length of his limbs, those tapered muscles that divined things that the mere thought of would cause him to blush, and there would be no saving him.

No, Charles Xavier was not allowed to fall for his newly-acquired, quiet, possibly dangerous new flat mate that he knew little to next to nothing about, but he did perk up at the chance to have someone to talk with. He turned to look at Erik who was staring off in the corner.

“Charles. Do you play chess?”

Charles’ mouth hung open where the words he’d meant to say fell out.

“I – oh, yes, I do.” He gestured to the chess pieces set on a table next to the recliner. “Would you like to play?”

Erik’s stomach let out a dissatisfied growl before he could respond. “I’d love to. While we eat, perhaps?”

Charles nodded emphatically. “I’ll order us take-away. There’s a great little pizza restaurant next to the laundromat downstairs. Set up the chess set, I’ll be right back.”

Charles swept across to the door and snagged his coat. “Do you want anything in particular?”

Erik just waved him off, signaling Charles to get the food already. Charles’ laughter echoed in the hallway as he shut the door behind him.


End file.
